Storm of Light
by Shadowmourn
Summary: In which a powerful crusader from Sanctuary is brought to Azeroth by the death of Malthael. There, he uses his powers to aid the races of Azeroth against both the Scourge and the Burning Legion, finding himself almost at home in this new, foreign world.


The shriek of the freed souls rang clearly in Sturm Brightblade's ears. Malthael's body lay suspended in the air, convulsing in unimaginable agony as all his power, all the souls he'd consumed, ripped their way out of his body. His death had come at the cost of two of Sturm's dearest friends, a young, powerful wizard and a wise, old monk, and had left his graying barbarian friend crippled, shattering his leg so badly it was beyond even the Archangel Auriel's ability to repair. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight. Something was wrong. The space around Malthael's body was twisting, as if there was a rend in the fabric of reality itself, caused by the death of Malthael. The rend grew and grew with each soul that escaped, screaming into the afterlife. His crippled friend was closest to Malthael, and was being sucked in. Without a second thought, Sturm leapt to his friend's aid, knocking him aside with a light blow of his flail. With an apologetic look, Sturm disappeared into the rift.

All was darkness around him. There was an absolute absence of anything at all. It felt like he drifted here for an eternity. 'Is this death?' he wondered as he floated along in the sea of nothingness. He couldn't move. It was as if his body and everything on it was suspended in time, a fact that he was grateful for, as he didn't want to lose his weapons and armor. He felt a light pull, a pull which steadily got stronger and stronger as a small light shone ahead of him. A light, which reminded him of the sun. He smiled as he entered the light, away from the awful nothingness. He appeared, fully mobile, in midair. He looked down in some wonder at the beautiful view. The forest was absolutely beautiful here. His thoughts were interrupted by the fact that he was not in fact on the ground, and was approaching it quite rapidly. With a loud oath, he managed to twist himself around enough to swing his flail, the legendary Hammer of Kharas, at a nearby tree, wrapping the chain and massive head around it and swinging down to land gently on the forest floor. Unlike other crusaders, he bore no shield, for he felt that the Light was the best shield a man could have, and concentrated instead on learning how to block and parry with his weapons. After unwrapping his flail, he slung it over his back and started wandering around, wanting to get the lay of the land here. He felt an unusually strong source of holy power nearby, and wished to investigate it as soon as he could.

A light twang sound signified an arrow being fired. Calmly, he turned around and caught the arrow between his index finger and thumb. There was a short, quiet gasp of amazement. He identified his attacker as female. He hurled the arrow back at the female, hearing it thunk solidly into the tree just half an inch shy of her left eye. Another gasp, and her heartbeat quickened significantly. "I believe that's yours, lass." He called in an amiable tone, seeking no conflict with the people of this new place. "I apologize, stranger. Everyone here on this island has nerves strung tighter than the strings of a lute." The female replied. Her voice was unlike any human voice he'd ever heard before. When she stepped out into view, he saw why. This was clearly no human, for no human had pointed ears and glowing green eyes. "Hmm. I wish not to seem impolite, but I must ask, what exactly are you?" The widening of her eyes conveyed shock. "You do not know? I thought every human knew what my race is. We are the blood elves." She said. "I am not exactly from around here, Lady Elf, and I do apologize if I have given offense." He replied. "Come. I'll bring you to the ones in charge here." She said. He followed. She brought him around a large hollow in the ground, where strange, evil-looking creatures were patrolling and apparently feeding off green crystals that emanated a malevolent presence. His right hand, the artifact known as the Silver Arm of Ergoth, went to his flail. "What is it?" his guide asked. "That is an abomination if I ever saw one. I will see it gone." Sturm said grimly. "Alone? Not even the best we can spare could do more than irritate those demons down there. They feed constantly, and thus they get stronger constantly as well." His guide told him. "Nevertheless, I must try. It is my duty to cleanse all evil whenever and wherever I can." He said. His firm voice brooked no argument. The elf looked nervous, but seeing that she could not sway him on this decision, she took out a flare and sent it into the sky. "That should send some reinforcements over. Just in case we need them." She told him.

He drew his flail from his back, the head forged in the terrible visage of the Lord of Terror shone, and the ruby red eyes glowed as if in anticipation of the bloodshed to come. With a mighty roar, he called upon the light and leapt into the sky, higher than any man could possibly jump, and glowed with power. A circle on the ground, 30 feet across, marked his descent. It was explosive. He landed with terrible force, the wave of power and light searing across the 30-foot wide area. All demons caught within the blast were instantly incinerated, and some of those evil crystals shattered. He pointed his flail at the other demons, who were getting over their shock and beginning to advance upon him, and his flail glowed. Three massive searing beams of pure light flowed from it, burning through the small army of demons with contemptuous ease. With a loud battle cry, he charged forward to meet the demons in close combat, swinging his now extended flail with great skill. Waves of golden fire erupted whenever he swung, searing away any demon caught in the flames. Chains of light blasted from his left hand, immobilizing the poor demon caught in the chains. He blocked a strike with the shaft of his absurdly long flail, and the moment he did so, flame erupted from his entire body in a terrible searing nova, finishing off any demons within range. The weaker demons were already running, but Sturm didn't give them the chance to escape. Slamming the head of his flail into the ground, he called forth spectral archers, Avatars of the Order of Zakarum, and their unnaturally swift and accurate firing put an end to the fleeing demons. When he turned around to look, his guide was standing with jaws agape in stunned amazement.

The reinforcements, more of the guide's people he believed, for they had pointed ears and green eyes as well. "What is it scout? What was the flare for? I see no demons her-wait. Were there not a small encampment of greater demons here feeding on our burning crystals?" The captain of the squad asked. "Yes sir, but this stranger I found, who claims to have no knowledge of this world, eradicated them with ease and powers I have never seen before." The guide, now revealed as a scout, replied. "I see. And where is this good man? We must thank him." "I am right here, good sir." Sturm called. The elf was clearly caught off guard by his size for a moment, but regained himself admirably. "I thank you on behalf of the Shattered Sun Offensive, good sir." The captain said with genuine gratitude. "I am simply doing my duty, captain. My charge is to cleanse all evil wherever and whenever I can." "Is that so? We could use a bit of help, and powerful people like you are few and far in between. You no doubt sense that fount of holy energy nearby, yes? That is our Sunwell, until it was corrupted. Now, it has been restored, but to the purposes of a demonlord by the name of Kil'Jaeden. He is using the well as a portal to physically enter our world, for so powerful he is that normal portals cannot support his full magical might." "A demonlord, you say? Back where I came from, I helped strike down many a demonlord. I will cleanse this evil from the well of holy power." Sturm stated. "We thank you, good sir." The captain said gratefully. "My name is Sturm Brightblade, captain." He said.

The captain led him to the gates of the Sunwell Plateau, where a group of 24 people, warriors most likely, had gathered. It was clear they were powerful, and were intending to end the demonlord infesting this holy place. There were a variety of races here, he could see. There were some blood elves, some bull-like creatures built more heavier than he was, hunched, green creatures that while shorter were build almost as muscular as the bull creatures themselves. There were also walking corpses. Keeping in mind the fact that he was clearly in a foreign world, Sturm refrained from striking the undead back into death. "Master of Whispers, I believe I have found the last member of our raid party. This is Master Sturm Brightblade. He is new to our world, as in he came from another reality altogether, though his power is nothing to scoff at I assure you." The captain reported. A black-robed figure that must have been this Master of Whispers spoke. "I can sense his might. But he needs to be told about all the dangers that lurk within this corrupt place." The Master said. "I shall tell him all there is to know about the coming battles, Master." A blood elven female, this one quite clearly some kind of sorcerer, volunteered. "Very well, Sariel." The Master acquiesced. "Greetings to you, Sturm Brightblade. I am Sariel Starbreeze. This place once belonged to my people, but the undead Scourge came and corrupted this once beautiful land. Within these gates lie the Sunwell, a fount of power that has fed our race for centuries. It was lost when its power was used to resurrect a powerful member of the Scourge, and when it was restored, it was taken by the Burning Legion, the Demons you see around here. They are using it to summon their Lord, Kil'jaeden. There are many demons and corrupted blood elves in there, and we will have to fight our way past all of them to reach the Chamber of the Sunwell, which lies at the very center. Be prepared for any situation you can, Sturm Brightblade." The sorceress told him. "Thank you for the information, my lady." Sturm said, bowing. "Right. Master Brightblade, I believe you need to tell us what your powers are, for we need to be prepared to work with or shield ourselves from them." A tall bull-creature spoke. "I wield the Light into battle, as do all my order. We used to be known as Paladins, but when their order was corrupted by a demon lord, one wise priest formed us, the Crusaders." He said. The bull-creature's eyes conveyed some surprise. "We can safely assume that you are similar to a paladin, then?" He asked. "I believe you can. There might be some differences, but my power will not harm allies unless there is ill intent within them." Sturm promised. "Good enough. Come, let us take back this holy ground from the Legion." The bull-creature, a tauren, Sturm heard, said. He opened the great gates and stepped inside, the rest of the party following close behind. Sturm walked at the head, as he had been ordered by the tauren. They walked in to find a blue goat-man creature, known as a Draenei, and a wounded party of elves. "A new party? I'm afraid we didn't make it too far before they got us good, friends. I'm sorry, but you'll be going in blind." The Draenei apologized sincerely. "It's alright, friend. We can manage." The tauren reassured him. The group moved on.

It wasn't long before they caught sight of the first enemy, a large mechanical golem of some sort; powered by a dark crystal much like the ones he had destroyed. Noticing the presence of intruders, the machine immediately charged them, its core glowing brightly as more power flowed. The tauren immediately charged it, his curious purple crystal hammer and shield pulsing with what he sensed to be the Light. He smashed the hammer into the machine, doing little damage, but the pulse of light that radiated from the strike did. The machine faltered slightly before regaining itself and striking, forcing the tauren to block. It was then that Sturm charged, slamming a glorious, golden apparition of a shield against the machine, now obviously powered by demonic magic due to its aversion to Light. The shield shattered into light, and the shards pierced through the torso of the machine. The machine gave out wheezing noises, but continued to strike out. Sturm swung his flail at it, the head containing a powerful buildup of holy energy. The energy released all into the dark crystal, cancelling out its dark force with light and shattering it. The machine groaned and collapsed, with no power to animate it. "We'd better make use of the Light and strike at the cores from afar. It would be best, I think, to avoid fighting these things in close combat." Sturm observed, looking pointedly at the dented shield of the Tauren. "Indeed, friend. However, our only source of ranged Light spells are the priests, and they have to save up their power to heal us in combat should we sustain damage ourselves." "I can solve that problem easily enough." Sturm chuckled. With a wave of his hand, 5 Avatars of the Order, wielding longbows, materialized. "These are apparitions of Crusaders long gone. They wielded the bow with expert mastery when they are alive, and these mindless apparitions are even more skilled." He told them.

The party let the Avatars walk in front and take down any Fel Sentry in their way. The arrows of light, aimed perfectly, shattered the almost undefended core of the fel sentries, leaving the Felblood Elves to be dealt with by the party themselves. The Felblood warlocks and Slayers were a huge bother to deal with, for the Warlock summoned suicidal flame imps, and the Slayer's enchanted blade always rends a portion of Soul with each strike, no matter the target. Few were hit, but the healers managed to heal them before it was too late. Sturm was a frenzy of whirling force, his flail swinging so fast it was but a blur even to trained eyes, and as such, the force from the momentum was great. Each ringing blow sent bodies, already broken by the impact, flying into walls. The mages, hunters and some shaman more suited to offensive spellcasting hurled spells and enchanted arrows at their targets, who were prevented from striking these core attackers by the melee combatants. Sturm, sensing rather than seeing the malevolent spell directed at the mage Sariel, quickly materialized a spectral sword, a sword which could cut through flesh and bone as easily as any blade, but which more importantly, could cut through magic itself. He hurled it at Sariel just in time to intercept the spell, and swiftly threw another blade at the warlock who had cast it. Every time a blow looked like it was about to land on Sturm, it would hit some invisible barrier that flashed golden at the point of impact. Often times, these flashes of gold told that the cause of it would soon be dead, for Sturm was quick on his feet, and could spin around and kill someone then turn back around so quickly most normal people could barely catch it. When two of these small patrols of 6 Felblood elves joined forces, Sturm called down lightning from the heavens, smashing golden bolts of lightning straight into the heads of the advancing Felblood. The lightning faded, but left behind a storm cloud that flashed ominously. The electricity instantly fried any elves caught in the cloud. The party watched, slightly in awe of this man who demonstrated so far peerless physical combat and now this show of magical might. The archers he summoned before were still there, and were still mindlessly raining arrows at a rate even the best elves couldn't keep up with. The silver bolts of light flew straight and true, taking out any Fel Sentries, and when there were no sentries they targeted the scouts, swift runners but weak combatants who were the only ones who could activate the inactive sentries.

They had advanced far into demon territory now, and this was mostly thanks in part to Sturm, who was highly alert and observant, his swords of light deflecting any magical attacks none of them could sense. Many suspected that his name Brightblade came from these swords. Before long, they stood before a massive blue dragon. "We don't have dragons back home." Sturm said. "This is a blue Dragon, Kalecgos, I believe. Blue dragons are weaker physically, but they manipulate magic on a scale most mages could never hope to match." Sariel supplied. "I sense a powerful demonic presence in his mind. I believe they are fighting for control of his body. Or rather, he, the dragon, is fighting the demon to regain control of his own body." Sturm said. "Could you describe the demon you sense?" The tauren asked. "He seemed slightly humanoid. Bat wings, hooves, goat legs, horns and fangs." Sturm said. "A nathrezim, then. We must all be as careful as we can. Nathrezim are known to be ruthlessly cunning, and are considered great Legion tacticians." The tauren said, more for Sturm's benefit than anything else. Sturm nodded his understanding, and the party strode forward to meet the dragon. His body stood up, and his eyes were pure black. "So, you are the mortals who were sent to end my Master? You are weak. You can barely even harm me, and yet you seek the great Kil'jaeden? He will unmake you! That is, if you are even alive after this battle…" the dragon's mouth spoke in a voice Sturm high doubted was the dragon's own. With that, the dragon snarled and opened his great maw, spitting out a chilling wave of frost magic, even as his massive claws swiped at the group. Sturm met the frost head on, his invisible barrier flickering as it countered the magic. With a burst of golden light, 3 massive, terrible wolves burst into existence around him. Each was as tall as half of Sturm's height, which was 7 feet. All three wolves seemed to be protected in the same way as Sturm himself, and so they were given free reign to strike, and even as Sturm held the dragon's attention, his party attacked from behind, raining down blows and magic on the dragon's tough hide. The rocks that made up his legendary helm, the Sage's Apogee, glowed cherry red and slammed one after another into the dragon's body with deadly force, carving furrows in its flesh. The dragon howled in rage and with a pulse of irresistible magic, pulled Sturm and his wolves, along with some of the party, inside a new realm, where the Dragon in his human form battles the Nathrezim, revealed now to be named Sarthrovarr the Corruptor. Sturm and his wolves Garm, Amarok and Temar charged, and the rest of the party in this portal realm followed behind. As Sarthrovarr turned to face them, he spoke. "Even if you kill this dragon's body, I shall still be here. I can still possess the corpse and its power, and nothing you pathetic mortals can do shall stop me!" Sturm narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "I think not, foul demon." Sturm said. He slung his flail back along his back and unsheathed the two swords at his waist. "Fulminator. Rimeheart. My pride and joy." He murmured. The blades seemed to glimmer even though there was not enough light in this dark world. Sturm seemed to blur out of existence, before he reappeared right in front of Sarthrovarr, Fulminator swinging in a deadly arc. The blade caught the unprepared demon on the chest, carving a deep groove into the leathery skin. Sarthrovarr hissed in astonishment. Lightning crackled from above, and one bolt flashed onto him. The lighting was cold. So dreadfully cold. Sarthrovarr could focus on nothing but the chilling power that so enveloped his very being. From Sturm and his party's point of view, Sarthrovarr had stopped moving, and was slowly freezing over. Once he was completely frozen, Sturm murmured, "Rimeheart." And smashed the other sword into the ice, shattering it into shards that quickly melted away into vapor. He sheathed the two blades and gestured to the portal that had formed at the hands of Kalecgos. The stunned party moved through, reuniting with the rest of them. Kalecgos, in control of his body once more, thanked them gratefully, and said that he must go gather more reinforcements from his flight, and promised to not be too long. Sturm's three wolves nuzzled him and whined like puppies, causing him to smile a true smile and scratch them behind the ears. The party wondered where the wolves were from, but didn't question out of politeness and respect to the person who had single handedly saved them more times so far than they could count. As they continued on, they met more and more Felblood.

It wasn't that Sturm hated demons. No, he could stand and even get to like a demon who wasn't inherently evil; it was the evil demons he hated. Now that he had proof that demons could choose to be evil or not, his hatred of those who chose to be evil had heightened. With Sturm suitably worked up now, they tore through the Felblood like nothing, and soon came upon a broken, ruined section of the Plateau. There was a huge toad like demon with wings, six legs and blades for hands. "That is a pit lord, and judging by its size a fairly old and powerful one." The Tauren murmured. A blue dragon flew in and blocked the way for the party by creating a wall of ice. The blue was an elder named Madrigosa, and she intended to fight the Pit Lord, Brutallus, alone. The battle was fierce, but short. Madrigosa appeared to have the upper hand for most of the fight. Her frost and arcane magics seemed to counter everything the Pit Lord could throw at her. However, when it appeared that Brutallus was on the verge of defeat, he suddenly shrugged off her magic and struck her down, claiming he was bored of playing with her. He then shattered the ice wall and challenged the party to combat, laughing insanely all the while. "He saw us. There is no more need for subterfuge. I can clearly sense his power, and I can assure you, I have alone face down demon lords far more powerful than he. I will take him myself." Sturm declared. The party burst into chatter. "We cannot in good faith let you sacrifice yourself like this, friend Sturm." The tauren protested. "Rest assured I will not die to this weak one." Sturm said confidently. His wolves gave a toothy grin, as if to reinforce his words. Sturm leapt off the ledge onto the corrupt and ruined grass, striding before Brutallus.

"I accept your challenge, Demon!" Sturm said loudly, in a challenging tone. Brutallus howled with glee. "Such small one you are! I will have fun trying to crush you underfoot!" He shouted as he charged Sturm, his hand blade making an overhead swing. Sturm hadn't even drawn his swords or his flail. His arm was taking on a strange silver sheen. Brutallus's strike connected with Sturm's right arm. The arm was now all silver. The shockwave from the strike was felt even by the rest of the party up the ledge, and they stared in horror at what they thought was a grisly demise for Sturm. Sturm was unharmed. Brutallus looked surprised, then irritated. Sturm swept his arm aside, and Brutallus staggered suddenly at the unexpected strength put into that simple swipe. He stared at Sturm in incredulity. "Such strength from a mere mortal! It is not possible! What is that arm, Human?" Brutallus growled. "It is an artifact known as the Silver Arm of Ergoth. I had it melded with my own flesh after a demonlord back where I come from cut my arm of, and you can be sure he is far stronger than you are. I faced him alone, and here I am." Sturm said boldly. Brutallus roared in rage and raised his second blade, smashing it into the Silver Arm as well, and causing no damage to it. Brutallus howled in rage and ignited his blades with fel flames. Sturm drew back his arm and spread his fingers. A spark of silver energy gathered and grew into a spluttering orb of raw silver magic. He held the orb for a moment, before firing it at Brutallus, who lost his left arm entirely trying to block the powerful blast. Brutallus snarled in senseless anger and raised his right arm, sending a crackling arc of fel fire at Sturm. Sturm's eyes widened in some shock, as the blast was actually powerful enough to have hit him, if he had allowed it to that is. He summoned forth a shieldwall of Avatars of the Order, 10 apparitions holding massive, thick shields arranged into a wall. As the Felfire crashed into the wall, an explosion of smoke covered most of the viewable battlefield. When the smoke cleared, it revealed Brutallus exhausted and bare standing, but still alive, and Sturm, looking perfectly fine and unharmed, with half his apparitions gone. "Bet you didn't expect that, foolish mortal." Brutallus grunted in some satisfaction. Sturm did not reply to that. Instead, he drew the Hammer of Kharas and pointed the head at Brutallus. Holy energy gathered, and a powerful beam of searing light shot towards the Pit Lord. Brutallus tried to say something, perhaps a spell of some sort, but the beam seared a hole though his chest, rendering speech impossible for him. The hole expanded, edges covered with golden fire, until eventually, Brutallus's corpse was no more. The rest of the party leapt down to join him. They congratulated him on his victory and thus they moved on. By this time, the party were already used to how strange Sturm was compared to the normal human paladin, and decided to save headaches and just accept things as they were.


End file.
